


It's Elementary, My Dear Thranduil

by kayeherl



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Absolutely no connection to Sherlock, Attempt at Humor, Drunken Shenanigans, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Shameless Smut, Shenanigans of all types, lots of liquor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 06:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4425341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayeherl/pseuds/kayeherl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder mystery in the elven city of Imladris featuring our two favorite male elf leaders: Thranduil and Elrond. Rated mature for adult themes (read: smut) and violence. M/M pairing, do not read if you don't like slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Trip to Imladris, Concerning a Misplaced Head

**Author's Note:**

> My craziness and I decided to write a murder mystery that takes place in Middle Earth with our two favorite elven leaders: Thranduil and Elrond. Now, this has absolutely nothing to do with Sherlock, it just seemed like a good title. There's going to be a lot of smut and mystery and maybe some humor if I can manage it.  
> This is completely AU and way before the Hobbit or LoTR but after both of their spouses left, but I'll try to keep everyone in character. However, this is an attempted comedy, so it may be a bit hard. Eh, I'll try.  
> So, without further ado, enjoy!

It was quite by mistake that Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, agreed to send fifteen hundred of his best jewels to Erobor. The dwarf had been laboring on and on, dragging the speech out that he had prepared to give Thranduil, who had stopped listening about five minutes in.  
The whole court had gone silent as Thranduil had started out of his thoughts and looked down at the expectant dwarf. Thranduil could hardly see the dwarf's face beyond all of that accursed hair. I wonder if it itches, Thranduil mused. "Fine," he said out loud.  
There were intakes of breath from everyone, and Thranduil looked around. His advisors were staring at him as if he had grown another head. He raised an eyebrow at them, but inwardly, he was panicking. What in Eru Iluvitar had he just promised these greedy, short and all too annoying dwarves? "Go fetch the…"  
"Gems, milord?" Algaron asked meekly.  
"Aye, the gems." Oh, Eru, he'd promised them gems. Thranduil had the urge to bury his face in his hands, but resisted the urge.  
The dwarf bowed deeply. "You are indeed generous, King Thranduil. Thank you."  
"No need to thank me," Thranduil said, standing up and casting his outer cloak off with a flurry of brilliant red silk. "If you will excuse me, I will go oversee the transport of the gems from our stores." He quickly walked down his throne, cursing the length of his robes—yet again—as he nearly fell. The dwarves were still kneeling and had their heads bowed—thank the Valar, but he grimaced all the same and quickly fled to the vault.  
"How many gems did I promise him?" he asked one of his advisors in a low undertone as they followed him. The dark-haired elf looked pale.  
"Fifteen hundred of the gems of pure starlight."  
Thranduil stopped dead and he felt two of his advisors smoothly step out of the way in order to refrain from running straight into their king's back. "Fifteen hundred?" he asked. Thranduil put a hand to his head and sighed. He should have listened, but the dwarf was just so boring. "Very well, put them in a chest and have them delivered to the dwarf."  
His advisors nodded as one and continued onto the vault. Thranduil sighed and turned the other way to go to his quarters. It was rude to leave the dwarf king, but he truly needed a break.  
Can this day get any better?  
00800  
As it turns out, it could.  
Thranduil was not expecting the body to fall upon him when he opened his door. In fact, he thought, wiping the blood off of his shoulder after starting and making a racket in which he knocked several vases off of their shelf, no one should have to expect to have a body drop on them.  
The guards came running as Thranduil toed the body over with one foot, careful to keep his silken slipper from soaking up any of the blood. It was headless and dressed in fine robes. Not one of his guards, then. He frowned and turned to the two guards who had rushed in, swords drawn.  
The dark-haired elf to his right made a noise of surprise. "My Lord Thranduil, are you alright?" The other crouched beside the body and poked at it.  
"Lovely," Thranduil replied saucily. "Where's Algaron?" He began unclasping his outer robe.  
"Here, My Lord." His personal assistant and advisor skittered to a halt before him, bowing his head. "What do you need?"  
"Take this to the laundry, see if they can get the blood out. I am rather fond of this. Oh, and see if you can find a head." He motioned to the body. "I assume that this elf was not like this when he entered my room."  
"Yes, My Lord," Algaron said, bowing once more, and running quickly down the hall. The elf was shorter than Thranduil, but then many elves were shorter than the elf king. He had hair that was as light as Thranduil's and striking green eyes. It had been those sharp eyes and quick tongue that had first brought Algaron to Thranduil's attention. He had been a noble servant once for one of Thranduil's distant relatives. Thranduil had told Alagron that he could make him a better deal, and the elf had stayed with him as his personal assistant and advisor for several hundred years since.  
"Search for the head," Thranduil said as he strode further into his chambers. He made for his wardrobe and opened it. Most would gaze upon his lavish wardrobe and either scoff at the extensiveness or stare in awe. Yards and yards of indulgent fabric graced the King's wardrobe, but Thranduil was more than used to the sight and simply stared at it until he fancied one above the others. He pulled out a black tunic—maybe the blood won't stain this as badly—and threw it on.  
As he turned, he saw it. He sighed again and went to the door.  
"Never mind," he called into the other room. "I have found the head." It was positioned at the head of his bed, dripping blood onto his pillows and blankets. The guards rushed into the room and looked at the head with distaste.  
Thranduil carefully walked over to his bed, careful to avoid the ribbons of blood that had collected on the floor. The elf had dark hair and was wearing a circlet that was far too plain for his court. "An elf of Imladris." That would explain the fine robes, as well. Elrond did not require his guards to be in uniform all the time, as Thranduil did.  
Elrond. The Lord of Imladris was a fair and just leader, or so everyone said. They spoke of his kindness to all elves. He even had a tolerance for dwarves, which was a true mark of patience and goodwill, Thranduil thought acidly. He personally thought that Elrond was soft and foolish, but he did not speak ill of the elf. It would make him seem petty, and many elves already saw him as that. "What will you have us do, My Lord?" one of guards asked.  
Thranduil sighed. He was truly too tired for this, but Elrond would be missing his lovely plaything. "Put the head in a sack," he instructed. He smiled wickedly. "And ready my horse. I am sure that Elrond is missing his elfling."  
00800  
Elrond let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. It had been a long day, full of political debating and compromising, and he was ready for a long night of sleep.  
Just his luck that the King of Mirkwood chose that moment to impose on him. "My Lord," Lindir called, running up the terraced steps. "A great company of elves is approaching Imladris's gate." Elrond looked up from his hand and blinked several times.  
"What? Now?"  
Lindir looked at a loss for words. "He's demanding to see you immediately; he says he has something that you need to see."  
"He? Who is he?"  
"King Thranduil, My Lord."  
Elrond sighed internally and slumped. It had been decades since had had to deal with the elf king of the Mirkwood forest, and he would gladly wait a few more ages before he had to deal with him again. "Tell him I'll be down in a moment."  
Lindir nodded and bowed quickly, before running back down the steps. Elrond sighed once more and stood up, following his advisor down the stairs at a much slower pace. He needed to firm his resolve and tap into his limited stream of patience before he dealt with Thranduil.  
Please, don't make me bite his head off, he prayed to whomever would listen.  
Elrond was, as he always found himself to be, stricken with how pretty Thranduil was. It wasn't handsome, it wasn't even fair of face. It was pretty. In his sweeping black robes with his hawthorn crown perched on his head and those damned eyebrows and blond hair, he looked like a fallen god, one of beauty or grace.  
That was, of course, before he opened his mouth. "Lord Elrond," he said, dismounting his caribou-moose (AN: what the hell is the thing that Thranduil rides?) in one smooth movement. "Well met. You look as if you could use some rest."  
Elrond raised an eyebrow. Yes, same Thranduil. "And you look as if you have been dragged through the forest," he quipped, knowing that it would get to Thranduil.  
"Because I have, old man," the king shot back lazily. Thranduil was carrying something in a sack. Something that had stained the fabric dark and that looked suspiciously like blood.  
"As much as I enjoy your company," Elrond said, keeping his voice painstakingly polite, "you must have a reason to come to Imladris outside of insulting me."  
"Aye." Thranduil shoved the sack at Elrond. "I believe this belongs to you."  
"What is it?" Elrond asked, looking up at the king, who gave him a pointed look. Elrond sighed inwardly and opened the sack.  
"Oh," he said, for that was the only word that came to mind. The tangle of hair matted with blood was completely unexpected, and he lost his train of thought for several heartbeats. When he caught it again, he looked up at Thranduil. "As much as I appreciate this unexpected gift, might I ask why you are giving it to me?"  
"It's one of your advisors," Thranduil snapped.  
Elrond frowned and pulled the head from the bag and blinked a few times. "Indeed," he said. "He was supposed to be back this evening from going to visit his mother. I presume you had a reason to kill him," Elrond said mildly, looking up at the king.  
"I didn't kill him," Thranduil scoffed. "You wound me with your lack of belief in my intelligence." He gave Elrond a saccharine sweet smile and turned to mount once more.  
"Wait," Elrond said. He nearly died inside as he said the next words, but the king would be expecting it, and Elrond knew that he could not turn him away without a bed for the night. He had a reputation to upkeep, after all. "We appreciate the…safe return of my advisor's head. Please join me in feast and rest here for the night."  
Thranduil looked down at him, blue eyes glittering like blades. "Why, you have not changed a bit, Elrond." He dismounted once more and nodded to his advisor, Algaron. The elf bowed and took his steed away to the stables. The other elves dismounted and began making their way there as well. Elrond watched them go with yet another inwardly sigh. The guest rooms have not been touched for months. There's probably leaves on the floor and spiders in the beds. Before Thranduil came into earshot, Elrond turned to Lindir, who had appeared by his side a few moments before. "Get someone to go prepare the guest rooms. I'll hold them out here as long as possible, but hurry."  
Lindir nodded and ran off. Thranduil looked after him and opened his mouth to say something, but Elrond cut him off.  
"The dinner will be served shortly. Can I tempt you with a glass of our finest wine?"  
"Aye," Thranduil said. "I could much use a glass of wine," he muttered as he passed Elrond. He walked up a few steps and then looked back—down—upon Elrond, who felt immensely irked to find the king looking down upon his in his own domain. Not that much could be done about that; Thranduil was taller than him. He walked up the few steps that separated him from the king and paused, turning to look over at him. Thranduil was much closer than he planned, and he looked straight up into those sharp eyes and. Just. Stopped.  
It was as if he had forgotten how to breathe. He stood there like an idiot in complete silence for several moments before dragging himself away from Thranduil's captivating gaze. "Follow me," he said, and felt very achieved when his voice didn't quaver.  
He would not fall for the King of Mirkwood, Elrond told himself firmly. He had lost Celebrian to the Undying Lands only decades ago, and his heart still ached for her in the wee hours of the morning.  
And it didn't even have to be that. The elf king was so infuriating. It drove Elrond to near madness to have to keep a civil tongue with Thranduil. He would not feel anything for him. He refused to. It had been the long day that had provoked such a reaction, nothing more.  
It was a nice, pretty lie that Elrond was all too happy to believe in.  
00800  
Thranduil was having a jolly time making Elrond disgruntled as they sat at the terraced dining pavilion. It was quite easy and quite amusing to see the elf lord attempt to keep his cool as Thranduil insulted him. It was even more fun when he made jabs back at Thranduil, even if they were presented with a stoic face. Thranduil had the distinct impression that Elrond was snarling at him under that blank mask of civility.  
The wine probably didn't help Thranduil's sour mood, and Elrond had drank more than a few glasses after the first ten minutes.  
"What was one of your advisors doing in Mirkwood?" Thranduil asked after a lull of silence.  
Elrond looked over at him, obviously not expecting the change in subject. Thranduil smiled sweetly and Elrond scowled. "I know not."  
"Spies are very dangerous creatures," Thranduil mused. Elrond started.  
"Surely you do not presume…"  
"Of course not, my dear Elrond." Thranduil said silkily. "I was merely noting that spies are very dangerous creatures and they should be dealt with immediately."  
He really is going to kill me, Elrond moaned internally. That or I'll kill him. "Are you certain you did not kill him?" he asked instead.  
"Yes, I am certain. I know when I sheathe my sword and when I slice heads off with it," Thranduil noted. "Or do you think me incapable of handling a sword?"  
Yes, I do, Elrond wanted to say. He refrained. "I have seen your skills with a blade, King Thranduil."  
By the Valar, this elf was tougher than most, Thranduil had to admit. Most elves who had the position to be his equal would have thrown something at him by now. Ever patient Elrond, Thranduil thought. I will get him to snap at me. Or throw something at me. It was a strange mood indeed that Thranduil was in, but he could not shake it.  
Just as Thranduil was devising how exactly he was going to get the dark-haired elf lord to show his true emotions, Elrond's assistant stopped beside him. "The rooms are ready, milord," he murmured, just loud enough for Thranduil to hear. Thranduil hid a smile. That was why the elf was tolerating Thranduil's presence. So that the guest rooms would be inhabitable.  
He stood and smoothed his hands languidly down the front of his robe. "I believe I shall retire to my room you so kindly prepared, Lindir."  
Elrond looked between Lindir and Thranduil for a few moments. He couldn't keep Thranduil any longer if the rooms were ready, and he would be more than happy to let the elf king leave. Yet…  
"Lindir, please show Thranduil to his room and then come to me. I have matters to discuss with you."  
Thranduil smiled at Elrond's deliberate exclusion of his title. "There is no need, Elrond. I am sure that I can find my way. My memory has not failed me. Unless your guest rooms have begun moving around, I will manage."  
Elrond raised an eyebrow. "I must insist. Would you rather I escort you myself?"  
Thranduil was tempted, oh so tempted, to irritate Elrond further by taking him up on his offer, but he shook his head. "Thank you for the escort, Lindir. And le hannon, Lord Elrond." He gave the Lord a small bow of the head and followed Lindir down the path. He had some snooping to do.  
Elrond sank into the seat at his study and let out the sigh that had been begging for escape all night. By the Valar, why did Thranduil have to be so irritating? He took a sheet of parchment out and dipped his quill in the ink that was waiting on his desk and began writing a letter to the dead elf's mother. He needed answers as to where the elf had been, and why he had been in Mirkwood.  
This day had been far too long for Elrond's liking, and too full of unneeded excitement. A raven flew into the room at Elrond's call. He tied the letter to the foot of the bird and sent it with a few directions muttered in Sindarin before sending it on its way. The bird squawked and flew out of the window with a huff, as if it was a trouble to take the letter. Elrond nearly rolled his eyes; was everything to act like Thranduil tonight, overdramatic and against Elrond?  
Speaking of which, where in the name of Eru was Lindir? He should have come back by now. Elrond stood and paced his study a few times before deciding that it would be best to find his advisor. He was probably being tortured by Thranduil, made to help him choose what he should sleep in and turn down the bed just the way Thranduil liked it. Just to keep him from coming to Elrond's study, as he was supposed to after escorting Thranduil to his room.  
Elrond wouldn't put it past the conniving, absolutely infuriating elf.  
With a grim nod to himself, Elrond went in search of Lindir.  
00800  
Thranduil was, indeed making Lindir turn his bed down. "No, not like that," he said. "A little more. Fluff it for Valar's sake, or else it looks like a limp leaf." Lindir quickly obeyed and Thranduil smiled. Elrond had his little pet trained very well. He was covering his exasperation almost as well as Elrond himself. "Now, that pillow is crooked."  
Thranduil turned around and surveyed the room. The evidence of the quick cleanup was very noticeable, but it was still nice. For a room of Imladris. It was rather plain, too plain for Thranduil's liking.  
"Tell me, Lindir," Thranduil said. The elf looked up, as if surprised that Thranduil had remembered his name. "Does Elrond not have any decorations? Jewels?"  
Lindir frowned. "No, My Lord. We have a modest amount of jewels, but Elrond does not display them."  
"A pity your lord is so stingy. Jewels are meant to be displayed. Have you ever seen the halls of my kingdom?" Lindir shook his head and looked back down, working to rearrange the pillows.  
Perhaps I could take what is Elrond's. Maybe that would bother him... Thranduil began stalking towards Lindir, much as a predator hunts its prey. Lindir looked up once again, as if sensing the shift of the tension in the air as Thranduil focused all of his attention on him. He stiffened, and looked towards the door. "The jewels of my palace are everywhere," he said, blocking Lindir's only way of escape. The dark-haired elf swallowed and seemed to shrink back as Thranduil came even closer.  
"Everywhere?" Lindir asked. His voice was surprisingly calm for the situation, and Thranduil scowled. He wanted to hear the elfling's voice tremble like a leaf in the wind as he stalked towards him.  
"Aye. Everywhere. In every imaginable place." Lindir had turned with him, keeping Thranduil in sight as he stalked around him. Thranduil struck quickly, pushing the elf against the bed. Lindir flinched and turned his face away, but not before Thranduil saw the spark of fear in his eyes.  
"My Lord," he began. "I must return to Lord Elrond. Please let me go to him." His voice was still incredibly steady.  
Thranduil put a finger underneath Lindir's chin and drew his head towards him. The elf's eyes stayed focused on the far side of the room. "You would make a nice addition to my pretty jewels." Lindir did not react in any way. "Look at me," Thranduil snapped. Lindir's eyes flickered and then met Thranduil's. The fear that he was trying to mask exhilarated Thranduil. It was not in Lindir's power to deny him anything that he could possibly want, and he could take it all.  
He pushed the elf to the bed and leaned over him. "My Lord," Lindir said again, this time a bit more frantically. Thranduil smirked and climbed onto the bed, straddling the elf's legs.  
"Shush," he said, trailing one finger down Lindir's face. "Be a good pet." If only this were Elrond that he was on top of, straddling. He would come willingly to Thranduil's bed, beg for Thranduil's touch, those perfect lips parted in pure ecstasy—Thranduil stopped as his fingers slipped under the elf's tunic, unclasping the first few clasps, displaying moonlight pale skin. Had he seriously just considered fantasizing about Elrond underneath him?  
Thranduil pulled back with disgust. The elf was infuriating and dull as politics, no fun at all. Why would he want him? He was just about tell Lindir to leave when a dagger lodged itself in the bedpost next to Thranduil.  
The elf king leapt off of the bed and drew his sword in one fluid motion, slicing at the empty air.  
The drapes fluttered in the breeze, and there was no indication that anyone had been in the room with them at all. Lindir had sat up and drawn a short hunting dagger the moment he had become aware of the threat. Thranduil turned and looked at him, a look of distaste on his face.  
"Hasn't anyone taught him manners?" he muttered, going over to the bed and inspecting the dagger from its position in the pole.  
When Elrond strode into his room, he launched his sword at the elf Lord. Elrond ducked and the sword impaled the wood wall behind him, humming with the force of Thranduil's throw. "Rhaich," Elrond cursed, looking at the elf king. "What merits throwing a sword at me, Thranduil? Are your accommodations not to your liking?" He quickly recovered his cool and straightened his tunic and cleared his throat.  
Thranduil smirked. He had just gotten a reaction out of Elrond, which was a feat indeed. The elf lord surveyed the room, noticing Lindir on the bed. His eyes flashed with fury for a moment before he turned to look back at Thranduil.  
Thranduil felt another flash of satisfaction as Lindir quickly sat the rest of the way up and straightened his tunic, clasping it once more. I can still get to you, Elrond, he thought with satisfaction. It amused him to consider all that would be running through Elrond's mind at this moment.  
Then, Thranduil realized that he was gloating more than he should be at the moment, and yanked the dagger out of the wall. It was a fine blade and its shape was familiar, as were the markings on it. "Why, Elrond, I believe this is one of your guards'."  
Elrond shook himself out of his seething anger and stomped over to where Thranduil was twirling the dagger. "Give it here," he said, trying to take it from Thranduil, who held it above Elrond's reach. The elf lord felt like a child, reaching for it above Thranduil's head, so he simply stepped back and crossed his arms, seething even more. He would kill the king before the night was over.  
"Tell me, dear Elrond, who in your guard would want me dead?" Thranduil asked, throwing the knife onto the bed. Lindir had stood up and was positioned beside Elrond, who looked as if he were trying to hold onto his sanity and failing.  
"I can think of many," he said smoothly. "But none in my guard. Thank the Valar you haven't had the chance to get to them yet."  
Thranduil turned and glanced at Elrond, before raising an eyebrow. "You wound me," he said, placing a melodramatic hand to his chest.  
"If I was attempting to wound you," Elrond said, his lips thinning. "I would have drawn my own blade and sliced your pretty throat with it."  
Thranduil tisked. "Now, now, Elrond. You do not want anyone else to hear you making threats." He began pacing, looking at the balcony, thinking. "The elf would have had to have access to the gardens below, which could be anyone." He paused in his pacing. "Did you call my throat pretty?"  
Elrond winced and came to stand at the balcony. He most definitely had, but Thranduil didn't need to know that he had indeed said that his throat was pretty and believed it wholeheartedly. "I recall no such thing. I believe your vanity has encroached upon us once again and caused you to mishear my words. They would have been able to climb four stories, so your former observation would be incorrect." he continued without missing a beat. "Which narrows it down a bit, but not to any of my guards." He leaned against the balcony and looked back at the King. "Who wants you dead, Thranduil?"  
Thranduil laughed, a soft, mocking sound. "Who does not want me dead, Elrond? I believe that will be the smaller group."  
"Aye, I suppose you are right," Elrond mused. "Kings and Lords have many enemies. It's a pity your people do not like you more." Thranduil resumed pacing instead of answering. They were all silent for a bit, and when no new revelations presented themselves, Elrond sighed and drew himself away from the balcony. "I will find out everything that I can." As Thranduil opened his mouth, Elrond held up a hand. "Not for your sake," he said acidly. Thranduil rolled his eyes.  
"Of course it isn't for my sake, you fool." he snapped. "I was simply offering assistance before you so unkindly cut me off." He gave Elrond a pointed look, which the elf lord chose to ignore.  
"Thank you, but I can manage quite well on my own, since it is my guardsmen and Imladris we are talking about," Elrond said, picking up the dagger from the bed. Thranduil looked ready to protest, but Elrond cut him a hard look and he fell silent.  
"Very well," he said and sighed. "Though I will do some digging into it myself." At Elrond's look, he sighed again. "You cannot stop me, dear Elrond. It was I who had a dagger thrown at their head."  
"Either your assassin has very poor aim, or it was a warning. I would not say that the dagger was thrown at your head, Thranduil, more at your general vicinity."  
"Technicalities, Elrond. I never knew you to be so picky."  
Elrond looked over at him with a countenance that spoke of great, deliberate patience. It was reflected in his voice as he said, "I trust your guards will do an adequate job of their job tonight," he said. "I will not impose on you any longer. Come, Lindir." He walked from the room, pausing only to tap Thranduil's sword, which was still in the wall. "Be careful where you stick your sword," he called as they left the King's chambers. Thranduil snorted and muttered,  
"When have I ever?"  
00800  
Elrond was seething silently as he left Thranduil's rooms, Lindir following him like a shadow. The elf was quiet and he seemed to be unharmed, but Elrond knew fully well what Thranduil had been doing to him before the dagger was thrown at him. For Eru's sake, can the elf not keep himself in his pants? And his hands out of other's pants?  
He turned to the elf, who had his eyes on the floor. His face was unreadable. Elrond paused and caught the elf by the arm. "Lindir," he began. Lindir didn't look up at him and Elrond grabbed his chin, forcing his face up so that he could look at it. There were no marks on his neck and his lips had not been kissed as far as Elrond could tell, for they were not swollen. Every other clasp save the three at his throat were neat and orderly. Of course, the answer is no.  
Lindir looked down. "Do not worry, my lord, King Thranduil did not do anything to me."  
"But he would have. If his life had not been threatened," Elrond insisted, softening his grip on the elf's chin after he made a small noise of pain.  
Lindir looked up in confusion. "No, my lord, he stopped. It was as if he had lost himself for a few moments, and then remembered who I was."  
Elrond let go of Lindir's chin and spun around. "Too many cups of wine," he muttered. "The fool." He turned back to Lindir, who had a light dusting of pink across his cheeks. "What did he do?"  
Lindir shrugged and lifted his own hand to his face and stroked it down one cheek and slid it under his tunic. Elrond turned away again, bile rising in his throat. Thranduil should not have touched him like that; it was improper and utterly mortifying for both Lindir and himself. "Forgive me," he murmured. "I should not have sent you with him without another person. It seems that our King gets a bit physical when he consumes too much wine."  
"Do not worry, my lord. As I said, he stopped after a few moments. After…"  
Elrond glanced over his shoulder. "After what?" Lindir swallowed, looking lost. "For Eru's sake, Lindir. Spit it out." Lindir went a deeper shade of pink, and then red.  
"After he said your name."  
My name? Elrond thought blankly for a few moments. He blinked several times. "What on Arda…" he shook his head. "Are you certain?" Lindir nodded once, a quick jerk of his head. Elrond sighed and put a hand to his face. "Too many cups of wine, indeed," he said.  
"My Lord? Do you not feel well?"  
"Nay, I am fine. Go to my study, Lindir," he began, handing the elf the knife. "Call upon my other advisors to help look for the engravings on this blade. I have seen the pattern before, but I cannot recall where. I will join you with books shortly."  
Lindir nodded, bowed and hurried quickly down the hall. Now that Elrond had finally gotten a chance to look at the blade, he had seen the engraving. It was a simple design set into the silver handle, a design that just escaped the grasp of his memory. He would need to figure it out before the assassin struck again.  
Assassin, for that would be the only person to be able to get past Elrond's guards unseen. There was still a lot to be learned this night, a lot to figure out.  
Yes, Elrond mused. This night is far from over.


	2. Of Knife Throwing and Library Flings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter two!

Lindir, Erestor and Glorfindel looked up as Elrond entered his study. The half elf lord looked exceptionally flustered, with two spots of color high on his cheeks. Everything else was unnaturally pale; even his lips were absolutely bloodless.  
"My Lord," Glorfindel began, setting down the scroll he had been reading. "What ails you?" It was very rare that Elrond looked flustered of all things. Elrond shook his head and swept quickly past them and sat down in his chair, pulling his robes quickly over his lap.  
The three elves exchanged confused glances. Elrond had gone to the library to pick some books up, but he had returned empty-handed, looking very harried. "My Lord," Lindir ventured after a few strained moments of silence. Elrond's gaze snapped to his, and Lindir noticed that Elrond's grey eyes were darker than usual, and sparked with something akin to desire. Lindir swallowed. "Where are the books?"  
Elrond's eyes clouded with confusion. "Books?"  
Glorfindel glanced over at Erestor, the question of what in the world is wrong with him? written plainly on his face. Erestor shook his head and frowned in response to the golden-haired advisor's silent question. "Aye," Lindir said tentatively. "You spoke of going to the library to fetch books. To find the meaning of this symbol." He held up the dagger, which Elrond stared at quite blankly for several long moments. "In the hall," he added.  
"Oh," Elrond eloquently managed. He floundered, attempting to regain his train of thought. "I have not been there as of the present time." The lie was so blatantly stated in his words that the advisors shared confused looks again, but no one dared to question his statement. Elrond was in such a strange mood, one that none of them had ever seen him in before.  
"Should… one of us go to the library? You look as if you need some rest, My Lord," Erestor said tentatively, stepping up to stand beside Lindir.  
Elrond's gaze snapped to him, burning with an intensity that Erestor had never seen before, save maybe during the heat of battle. "No!" the half elf lord all but shouted, and each of his advisors flinched. Elrond was a fair and just leader, but his violent side was terrifying to behold. Elrond took a deep breath in. "I will retrieve them in a bit," he said in a softer, more apologetic voice. Glorfindel, who had gripped the chair he was standing behind with a white-knuckled grip, slowly released his hold. He visibly relaxed and let out a breath. Elrond did not seem to notice the blond's discomfort, but placed a hand on his forehead, trying to will away the blush that was staining his cheeks.  
He had good reason indeed not to go into the library for several minutes, for a certain blond king would still be there.  
Elrond was not sure if he could ever tell anyone of what he had seen transpire in the library. He had entered and gone straight to the shelf he needed, because it was his library, and one should not have to announce themselves when they enter a room that they own, after all. However, he had heard Thranduil's voice only a few aisles down. He had immediately abandoned his task and crept down the aisle to see what the elf king was doing in his library.  
Without his consent, mind you, but the elf king seemed to think that he answered to no one, even if it happened to be common courtesy to ask the owner of a library for permission before entering. If Thranduil was doing this to get on his nerves…  
Imagine Elrond's surprise when he had found Thranduil half draped over Elrond's favorite reading table, dark midnight outer cloak spread over it like a table cloth, his blond haired assistant standing next to him, head bowed. Elrond had been preparing to declare himself and was conjuring up the correct countenance that would let Thranduil know of his disapproval while still remaining thoroughly unattached, when Thranduil had spoken. His voice had been different, a low, seductive purr that made chills run down Elrond's spine like fingers. It was a completely different tone than the distant, icy cold tone he had used with Elrond the entire night.  
"You serve me, do you not, Algaron?"  
Algaron's hands were trembling slightly, just enough for Elrond to notice from his vantage point, as he reached up to tuck an errant strand of flaxen hair behind a delicately pointed ear. "Aye, my lord," he said. His voice was steadier than his hand.  
"Then show me your loyalty." Thranduil's voice had dropped an octave, becoming an almost primal, velvety purr. He had removed his crown, the hawthorn contraption beside him on the desk. He looked no less imposing without it on, but perhaps that was only because of the tone of his voice. He did look shorter, as the crown gave his already preposterous height another six or so inches, and perhaps a bit younger as well. Elrond drew closer to the book case as Algaron kneeled in front of Thranduil.  
At first, Elrond simply thought that the blond haired elf was bowing to the King of Mirkwood, but after a moment, he reached out and pushed Thranduil's outer tunic aside, exposing tight black trousers. Tight enough that Elrond could see the quite obvious bulge. He felt his cheeks flame, but he couldn't—didn't want to—look away, as was decent. Algaron began working at the lacings of the trousers, his fingers still shaking. Thranduil made a noise of impatience deep in his throat, in that same guttural, primal tone that sent more shivers down Elrond's spine. The King joined his advisor in the task of unlacing his breeches, his own fingers trembling just a bit. However, Elrond knew that it was from anticipation, while he was unsure if Algaron's shaking fingers were from that same emotion or another; fear.  
Elrond was speechless as the blond elf leaned forward and began—Elrond pulled back around the corner of the shelf fast enough for it to cause a disturbance in the air. He closed his eyes and wished the image that he had just seen from his mind, but he knew that he would never fully eliminate it from his brain. The lewd sucking and licking noises and soft sounds issuing from Thranduil's throat were not helping his cause in the least.  
What in the name of the Valar were they doing here in the library? Could they not retire to their rooms and continue? And on his favorite reading table of all places? The nerve the elf king had. Elrond was very close, so very close, to stalking out of his hiding place and slamming his fists on the table, and demanding an explanation. The surprise on Thranduil's face would certainly be something to see, but something held him back. A small devil made of the wine he had consumed and curiosity. What did Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, look like in the throes of passion?  
And his body was another matter. Upon hearing the occasional soft moans that accompanied those wet, sucking sounds, all of the heat in his body rushed downwards and concentrated in his groin. This sudden change in his body caused Elrond to draw in a sharp breath. Raiches, he thought acidly. Thranduil should not affect him, not at all and most definitely not in this way. Lovely. He did not want to look around the corner, for he knew he would never be able to forget the sight of the beautiful king. But that little nudge, fed by the wine and his own cursed curiosity caused him to creep to the edge of the bookcase and peer around it.  
He drew another sharp breath in once he laid his eyes upon the elf. The elf king's head was tilted back, long blond hair sliding like water over one shoulder. Those exquisite eyes were closed and his lips were parted, ever so slightly.  
"Harder," Thranduil breathed. "You have teeth, use them" To hear the king's voice so breathless and emotional made the fire in Elrond's groin strengthen. To Elrond's dismay, the situation that he had previously had under control faltered, and he became hard. What in Eru Iluvitar? He growled inwardly, trying his best to fight it. Thranduil made another noise and his brilliantly blue eyes opened, dark with lust and pleasure. "Aye," he murmured, pulling the elf closer to him. "Like that, my lovely. You are doing beautifully."  
Algaron was still trembling, Elrond could see the slight tremors running down his back, but it was obviously not affecting his ability to perform, from the look on Thranduil's face, and the sounds that were almost dragged out of him without his consent. Elrond clamped his jaw down on his own sound of pleasured pain as he watched the elf king stiffen and gasp for breath. Then, Thranduil, too was trembling as waves of pleasure wracked his body.  
His eyes opened wide and fell straight onto Elrond's. Thranduil made no move to cover his nakedness, or to move. Instead, he simply murmured, "Elrond," in a low, husky, sex-drenched voice that made Elrond's already aching body ache even more. He ached to have that same voice whispering his name over bare flesh, lips barely brushing taut skin and straining muscle.  
Algaron whipped around, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth quickly. The shame of being caught was obvious in his eyes, and Thranduil placed a hand on his shoulder, fingers curling in his hair to calm him. However, he did not look down, just held Elrond's gaze for several long heartbeats, the pure lust in his eyes making Elrond's head spin. Then, his gaze left Elrond's and ran slowly, languidly down his body, catching on the hot, wanting part of him and flicking back up to his eyes once more.  
They were both caught like that for several heartbeats, in which Elrond had to wrench himself away from that lust, from answering the call in Thranduil's eyes, the call for him, come be mine, Elrond. The half elf remembered himself and blushed a deep crimson that must have reached the points of his ears, before whipping around the corner of the bookshelf again, this time fleeing from the library and flinging himself into the study.  
He had sat down quickly in an attempt to avoid his advisors seeing the quite painful bulge in his pants, and tried to will the overwhelming waves of lust to pass. Thus he sat, aching in places he hadn't for years and trying to come to terms with what had just happened and why he had responded the way he had.  
"I have consumed too much wine," he growled, trying to calm his body. It still remembered Thranduil's heated gaze, and it wasn't likely that it would forget the pure lust in his eyes. Elrond took a deep, shuddering breath and turned to his advisors, all of which were watching him warily. He attempted to shift to turn to face them fully without having to crane his neck, but stopped as his ahem problem twanged. He gripped the chair hard enough for it to hurt him and attempted to stifle the sound of his discomfort. He failed spectacularly.  
"My Lord?" Lindir asked, crouching down beside him. "What ails you?" he repeated. The position was too much like what Thranduil had put Algaron in. Elrond stood quickly and turned away.  
"I am fine," he said to the wall. "Perhaps… we could discuss this in the morning. I am afraid I have drank too much wine and my brain has become addled by it."  
Lindir nodded, though Elrond could not see him. "Of course, my lord. Would you like assistance to your room?"  
"No," Elrond said, his voice exceptionally pained. "I am quite certain I remember my way to my own room."  
Lindir swallowed and glanced back towards the other two advisors for help. They both shrugged helplessly. They certainly had never seen Elrond in this kind of state. Lindir sighed. "I had not meant to imply…"  
"Of course you did not," Elrond said, cutting the elf off. "Thank you for your offer, but I can find my way. Go and rest. Today has been taxing and all of you deserve a long rest. Thranduil," he said, his voice shook on the name, and Elrond cursed himself. "Thranduil," he repeated and this time it seemed like any other word in the sentence. "Will have to wait until tomorrow."  
Glorfindel and Erestor left first, murmuring a quiet goodnight to their lord, and exchanging whispered propositions of what was bothering him, even before they were out of ear shot. Lindir lingered a bit longer, pouring a cup of Elrond's favorite tea and pushing it into his hand. "To calm you," he murmured and gave Elrond a sweet smile, the kind that only Lindir was capable of.  
Elrond smiled back. "Le hannon," he murmured. Lindir bowed slightly, just a slight inclination of his head, and left, shutting the study door quietly behind him. Elrond let out a deep breath and went to sit back at his desk, attempting to ignore the throbbing pleasure-pain between his legs. Surely his arousal would leave if he simply sat here and ignored it, wouldn't it?  
After five long, painful minutes, Elrond sighed yet again. He had partaken in entirely too much wine for his own good, and Thranduil had driven him to it. Curse the elf for being so irritating. So beautiful. NO. Elrond would not think about that. It would lead him down a very dangerous path. But this desire was going nowhere, and he had to do something. He knew he would not get a heartbeat of sleep if he left himself like this.  
Elrond had never been one for self-pleasure, and had only done it in times of great need, such as this very situation, and he had not even dared to consider it after Celebrian had sailed to the Undying Lands. However, perhaps Elrond could get everything he had seen and felt out of his system by pleasuring himself, just this once.  
He sighed once more, a quick, frustrated release of breath and gave into the temptation. He unlaced his trousers. So great was his need that, within a few strokes, the pleasure wracked his body and completely took over all of his senses.  
He hardly noticed when Thranduil's name slipped from his lips in the throes of passion.  
00800  
"This dagger did not come from Imladris," Elrond concluded, throwing the blade onto the table. It skidded across the polished wood and stopped only a moment from slicing into Thranduil's hand. The elf king did not flinch, simply stared at the dagger and quirked his lips slightly up in a smile. "In fact," Elrond continued, purposely ignoring Thranduil. "It is not even of Elvish make." Now, he gave Thranduil's general direction a pointed glance, though he did not meet his gaze. He was most definitely pretending that he was not affected.  
Thranduil leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He swirled his wine in its goblet, looking every inch the arrogant elven King he was famed to be. And curse him for being able to stomach the drink after consuming pints of it last night. Elrond grew slightly sick every time he laid eyes upon the stuff. "And tell me, my dear Elrond," he said, his voice exceptionally mocking. "How in the name of the Valar did you come to this conclusion?"  
Elrond raised an eyebrow and sat forward in his chair, leaning his chin on his steepled fingers. He met Thranduil's gaze for the first time that morning after his first initial glance, which had made him go red as he remembered what he had seen and what he had done the previous night. This time, though, he held the elf king's gaze steadily and did not flinch. "Why, it is elementary, my dear Thranduil," he said. The elf's azure eyes held his for several moments, expressionless. It was a silent challenge, to see who would look away first. Who would lose their nerve and give into the humming tension that crackled between them.  
Thranduil surprised Elrond when his eyes flickered with some dark emotion and then he looked down at his hands. Well, Elrond thought, pleased. That certainly was not difficult. "Enlighten me, Lord of Imladris, for you are much wiser than I, or so many people say." He glanced up once more, that icily arrogant mask in place once more. For a few heartbeats, his eyes had been almost troubled, churning with an emotion that Elrond could not quite place.  
The four advisors in the room exchanged glanced. Algaron knew fully well what was going on, and had flushed a deep crimson each and every time Elrond laid eyes upon him, but Glorfindel, Lindir and Erestor had no idea what the tension was caused by. They had tried to ease the tension at first by providing food and drink, but even Elrond was sipping his usual calming tea, he remained stiff and tense. Lindir had asked Glorfindel and Erestor in a low tone if they had figured out what had happened.  
Glorfindel had shaken his head, but Erestor had beckoned Lindir closer and said, "It has something to do with Thranduil. Lindir had nodded and Erestor had continued. "And Algaron knows something, but he will not speak of it." Lindir glanced back at Thranduil's advisor, who was looking down at his feet, seemingly lost in thought.  
"Why not?" Lindir asked, turning back to the dark-haired councilor.  
Erestor shrugged. "I know not." He had glanced around, looking between Thranduil and Elrond. "You could ask him."  
Lindir blinked. "Me?"  
"Aye, you," Erestor said, a bit impatiently.  
"Why?" Lindir asked. He was not usually their first choice for anything. Both elves were much older and skilled, and planned their own pranks and quests for knowledge without including him. He may have been Elrond's chief advisor, but he was still not equal to either the Balrog-slayer Glorfindel or the beautiful Erestor.  
Erestor shrugged. "You are similar in position to him and will be able to speak with him more easily. You also have the same temperament."  
"We do not," Lindir said indignantly, looking over at the elf, who was still acting timid. Erestor raised an eyebrow and Lindir subsided. He truly was not a great warrior like Glorfindel or as confident as Erestor, but preferred his books and the company of the garden more than anyone else's. He scowled. "You could talk to him."  
"I already have, and he told me nothing," Erestor said.  
"There you have it," Lindir said, satisfied.  
Erestor raised an eyebrow again. "Are you not curious to see what has happened, Lindir?"  
"Of course I am," Lindir said. Erestor was silent, the lack of words a prompt enough for the elf. "Very well," he said, irritated. "I will talk to Algaron." Thus, he was tasked with getting closer to Thranduil's closest advisor.  
It began with him slowly inching towards the blond haired Silvian elf, as Elrond and Thranduil continued to verbally spar with each other.  
"My," Elrond said mildly. He leaned back slightly, stretching his sore muscles. Some sword fighting would do him good, allow him to loosen his tense muscles. "I am surprised that you would allow your subjects to speak of you thus."  
He looked away as, unbidden, a memory of last night encroached upon his peace of mind. "Then show me your loyalty." Those had not been the words of a reprimand, or even a suggestion. They had been a command. He had heard of the king's quick temper and ruthless punishments. He would not allow his subjects to speak of him thus. It was very likely that the Eldeh that Thranduil had spoken of were missing a few fingers. Or perhaps their head. It depended on the day with Thranduil, and his mercurial moods.  
Thranduil smiled coolly. "I do not." He confirmed Elrond's suspicions with those three words. They spoke volumes, and held danger that sent shivers down Elrond's spine despite himself. He did not want to find himself on the wrong side of this elf. To cover his discomfort, Elrond leaned backwards and picked up the dagger once more. "What does your superior wisdom have to say?"  
"This dagger," Elrond began, holding the weapon out. "Is not of Elvish make," he repeated. He ran his fingers down the dagger, along the engraved hilt. "This is not the metal that comes from any of the elven cities and if my eyes are not deceiving me, this dagger comes from the city of kings. The crest would make sense if it came from there."  
Thranduil leaned forward, looking genuinely interesting for the first time since he had entered the room. "Made in the smithy of man?"  
"Aye." Elrond flipped it up into the air once, catching it neatly by its handle once again. The move was practiced, sure and confident. The elf lord did not doubt his ability to handle a weapon properly, not even a bit. "However, it was fashioned for an elf."  
Thranduil allowed a slight frown to slip over his face. "What would and elf want with a man's blade?"  
"The ability to turn our attention to the men and take the suspicion off of the elves, I suspect," Elrond said immediately.  
"Or could it have been a man?"  
Elrond frowned. "That is definitely possible. Not likely, however."  
"It is a blade of man. Why would it not be a man?" Thranduil leaned forward and laced his fingers together, looking at Elrond with challenge in his gaze. Elrond could feel it pounding against his skin like an invisible wave. Elrond inwardly rolled his eyes but gave Thranduil's general direction a patient smile.  
"There are not many men who come to Imladris. We do not often trade with them as you do with Laketown and the dwarves. I would know if a man was inside of the protection of Imladris." He put a hand to his chest. "Men have heavier footsteps than elves, and I would be able to feel their footsteps upon the soil of my land."  
Thranduil's eyes were unreadable in the brief glance Elrond allowed himself to steal. Like every elf lord or lady in Arda, Elrond had some powers that he did not. Knowing who inhabited his land was something Thranduil had never been able to fathom; and he was thankful that he could not. Since Greenwood had become Mirkwood, the forest had been… sick for a lack of a better word, and try as he might, Thranduil had not been able to heal it.  
Elrond waited for the king to come back with another objection, and raised an eyebrow when he failed to. He could feel Thranduil's eyes burning into his body, but he dared not look at the elf, not when he could feel the intensity of his gaze. Instead, he watched Lindir, who was slowly inching towards Algaron. What in the name of the Valar is he doing? Lindir glanced up and met Elrond's questioning gaze. He blushed and ceased moving, glancing over at Erestor and Glorfindel. Elrond shook his head and looked back down at the blade in his hand.  
"I know that you do not trust my judgment, but I can assure you, it is sound."  
"I beg to differ," Thranduil said coolly, simply to get the elf to look at him. Elrond was avoiding his gaze as if his life depended on it.  
Elrond glanced up, his eyes glittering with some dark emotion, and he opened his mouth. Thranduil braced himself for the scathing words that would pour from them, but Elrond blinked and shut his mouth. Thranduil let out a breath and leaned back. He had gotten this close to seeing real emotion in Elrond's eyes for the first time of the day. The half elf took a deep breath in and spoke again, his voice exceptionally calm. Should that rub Thranduil the wrong way as much as it did? "Do you know of a way to prove the origin of this dagger, Thranduil?" He gave the elf king a smile that spoke volumes.  
Test me all you want, Thranduil nearly said, but stopped himself, and returned a chilling smile. "And if I do?"  
"Then it would be in both of our interests to employ it," Elrond said patently. "Do not be orc-headed, Thranduil. It would be in both of our interests to learn who was attempting to kill you. If only to get the suspicion off of me. Since you seem oh so intent on blaming it on anyone and everyone residing in Imladris."  
"Oh, that stung, Dear Elrond," Thranduil said, putting a hand to his chest melodramatically. "Why do you insult me thus?"  
"Do you or do you not?" Elrond nearly snapped. He was tiring of this game, and wanted to get this over as quickly as he could.  
Thranduil cocked his head to the side, white-flaxen hair sliding over his shoulder like water. "Aye," he said after a moment, drawing the word out. "I know of a way to track the dagger and to find the maker of the blade."  
Elrond sighed inwardly. He was going to make Elrond ask for his assistance. Typical, stubborn, beautiful elf. He truly did look like a king in this early dawn light, which did not have the good graces to strip the color of his eyes away from him, as it did to everything else. His skin was milk-pale, as was his hair, his dark cloak almost black. Elrond realized that he was staring and dragged his gaze away swiftly. He shoved the pang of—what, exactly?—deep down inside of himself and attempted to pretend that it was not there. "What do you require from me for this?" he asked, leaning his forehead on one hand in an attempt to contain the emotions that were running rampant through him. After a moment, he glanced up, trying to mask these wicked, wicked feelings.  
"You," Thranduil said. It was more of the purr from last night, low and seductive. Elrond swallowed and made his face utterly blank, before looking down at the elf king. Upon seeing no reaction, Thranduil sighed. seductive. Elrond swallowed and made his face utterly blank, before looking down at the elf king. Upon seeing no reaction, Thranduil sighed. You're no fun, he thought, but said nothing out loud. He tightened his lips into a purse before speaking again. "Your power," he elaborated after a few heartbeats, in which the tension in the room increased tenfold. "And the dagger. I have not enough power at my disposal in Imladris to complete this by myself."  
"That is all?" Elrond asked, surprised. Most magic that was done needed more than simply power and the object, but perhaps Silvian elves did it differently. Elrond stood after Thranduil nodded his head once in affirmation. "Where do we go?"  
"Why not to the library?" Thranduil said. The suggestion was innocent enough, but Elrond saw the glimmer of mischief in Thranduil's eyes.  
"I believe the balcony will suffice," Elrond managed to get out. He turned away from Thranduil and quickly went out onto the balcony. Thranduil got up and followed the elf, and he could not help the small smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. Elrond was not completely immune, after all. He could still push his buttons and get underneath his skin. The elf had not forgotten what he had seen last night while under the sway of the wine; Thranduil was positive now. He had been unsure but now he knew. And Thranduil remembered the desire he had seen in the elf lord's eyes.  
Oh, I should have come to Imladris sooner, he thought as he followed Elrond onto the balcony. This is too much fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it. Smutty goodness and all.   
> Also, disclaimer. I forgot it in my first chapter but, anyhow: None of this belongs to me, they belong to lord and awesome dude J.R.R. Tolkein who deserves several lifetimes of praise. I only have my smuttiness and all that fun stuff!


	3. Oh What a Smutty-ful Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three peeps! Enjoy it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s Chapter Three, in which more smut shall ensue. I’m also going to be switching POV’s between Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, LIndir and Algaron. So hope you don’t mind. But otherwise, I don’t know how long this chapter would be. Probably really short. So, anyway, here you go.   
> Don't hate on me for my OC please. I just needed someone for Lindir to be with, because why would it be fair to leave him alone when Erestor and Glorfindel and Thranduil and Elrond were getting it on with each other. (Not all together, you corrupt-minded person. Goodness. Though, that is a good idea.)  
> Anyway, here’s more smutty fluffy angsty stuff. Enjoy!

Glorfindel and Erestor were having great fun watching Lindir ease closer to Algaron, who was still looking at the floor, as if his life depended on it. The only time that the blond haired Silvian elf had looked up was when Thranduil had purred something about the library. His eyes had been panicked, and Lindir had frozen, standing completely still until Algaron had looked back down again.   
“See?” Glorfindel said into Erestor’s ear. “It has something to do with the library.” Erestor looked over at Glorfindel, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but was surprised into silence by the proximity of the golden-haired balrog-slayer’s face to his own. He simply stopped, all logical thought and reason leaving him. Has he always had such lovely eyes? was the first coherent thought that entered Erestor’s mind. Glorfindel blinked at Erestor’s lack of barbed response. The elf was usually so quick to quip back some absolutely irritating reply that made Glorfindel grin, but only internally. He wouldn’t ever give the dark-haired elf the pleasure of letting him see that his taunts had any effect.   
Glorfindel took a deep breath in to ask Erestor what was wrong with him, but then caught a whiff of Erestor’s unique scent. It was a mixture of honey and pine, something that should not be pleasant, but somehow was. He quickly took a step back and turned away without saying anything, trying to figure out why he suddenly felt so attracted to the elf.   
The moment was broken, and Erestor found his train of thought once more. “I never said otherwise,” he murmured. “It is not as if I was disagreeing with you; we all came to that conclusion.” Glorfindel looked almost ready to come back with another retort, but both of the elven lords stood up and all for advisors stopped what they were doing to watch the two elves walking to the balcony.   
Glorfindel pulled fully away and followed them outside without replying to Erestor’s taunt, which was so very unlike him. Erestor paused, taking a deep breath and tried to come to terms with what had just happened. Never in all the years that both Glorfindel and Erestor had been Elrond’s advisors, had had something like this happened. Glorfindel and Erestor had hated each other at first, because they hadn’t known each other, and each was a bit jealous of the other, though they would both swear on Arda that wasn’t the case if they were confronted about it. The two had quarreled constantly; Glorfindel had been hot-headed and quick to speak, and Erestor had thought him more of a preening bird that had entirely too much arrogance. Glorfindel, on the other hand, had thought Erestor to be stone-cold, incapable of even the most basic emotions beyond anger, and constantly tested him to see if that was truly the case.   
However, it had gotten to the point that Glorfindel had called a duel between the two in the middle of the night. When they had found their skills equally matched, they had sparred until the sun rose, and had lain down on the ground side by side, panting from exhaustion and unable to continue, and had called a truce.   
They had even gone so far as to become friends after that. Erestor learned that Glorfindel’s arrogance was just an act, put up to hide himself from the world—from what, Erestor still was unsure. Glorfindel had similarly found that Erestor’s lack of emotion was an attempt to keep people away from him. The elf was truly shy, and tried to cover it with being rude.   
They had been nothing but friends, however, nothing more. What had changed?   
“Erestor?” the elf shook himself out of his brooding at Lindir’s voice. They were the only ones left in the room, and Lindir was by the door. “Are you well?”  
Erestor smiled at the elf. “Quite.” He followed Lindir out onto the balcony. “Le hannon.” He did not miss the elf’s long, searching look, but endeavored to ignore it as fully as he could.   
Elrond and Thranduil were facing each other, both looking incredibly unexcited at the prospect of having to touch each other. Thranduil because he remembered the way he had felt last night, upon seeing the desire in Elrond’s eyes; Elrond because he didn’t know if he could touch the elf without reacting the way he had last night. The shame of his actions last night weighed heavily down on his shoulders, yet he did not quite regret it fully.   
Lindir took his place beside Algaron, and Erestor joined the elves outside, standing a little further away from Glorfindel than usual. Glorfindel noticed, but he did not comment. He was unsure of whether he should stand next to Erestor in his current state. Whatever that happened to be.   
Thranduil offered up his hands, palms up, after they both stared at each other for several seconds. “Press the dagger flat between our palms,” he instructed, and Elrond complied. He slid his fingers carefully, gently, over Thranduil’s. He had expected smooth hands; the king did not seem to be one for blades, but he was met with callouses akin to his own. He held his breath as Thranduil crept his smooth fingertips along Elrond’s palms, resting them on the delicate and extraordinarily sensitive skin of his wrists. Had his wrists always been this sensitive?  
Thranduil felt something hot and electric slide through his body; whether it came from the actual touch, or his reaction to the touch, he did not know. He knew of Elrond’s battles, how he had fought with Gil-galad in the past, but surely those callouses would have faded over time, leaving scholar’s hands, smooth and unblemished. However, Elrond’s hands were still those of a warrior’s. The skin of his wrists was soft, as were his fingers, quick and nimble as the positioned the dagger between their palms. His other hand encircled the king’s wrist, causing a quiver to travel down Thranduil’s arm. He grimaced and closed his eyes, centering himself. He had to focus on the task at hand, or else the spell would fail.   
“Open your mind to me,” Thranduil said. He hated to do this, for he was not sure that he trusted his own memories and feelings to remain hidden from Elrond’s mind. The elf lord’s fingers tightened around his wrists, pressing the dagger painfully into his right hand. Thranduil opened his eyes and looked into Elrond’s deceptively serene gaze. “You must be able to see what I see.”  
Elrond’s gaze clouded with confusion and uncertainty for a moment, but then he took a deep breath and nodded, closing his eyes, his dark lashes resting against high, proud cheekbones. Thranduil closed his eyes as well, trying to rid his memory of that sight and took a few breaths to steady his mind. He reached out a tendril of his thoughts the way his father had taught him—his father. It was Gil-galad’s fault Oropher was dead. Just the mention of the two names brought back the raging fury and utter desolation that had swept through Thranduil, all those years ago when his father had been slain in the Battle of the Last Alliance.   
He recoiled the tendril and took another calm breath. He realized that he was shaking only when Elrond’s grasp tightened on him even more. He could not—refused to—think about that right now. He reached out again, this time brushing against the mind of Elrond.   
By the Valar, he was old. Thranduil tried to retreat, but he found that his willpower would not let him. Elrond’s mind was filled with countless years of knowledge, peace and misery, wisdom and folly. Thranduil never would have guessed…   
He felt a deep sadness, one that could not be quelled, and he felt that same aching emptiness in himself. It was their mates, who had left them, to the Undying Lands or by death that this aching sadness was from, and for the first time, Thranduil felt that he had something in common with the elf. It was a profound revelation, one that caused Thranduil to reel back slightly, before gaining his balance again.   
Elrond hardly noticed Thranduil’s surprise. He was too busy feeling the same emotion for himself. Thranduil felt. The way he acted, it was as if the elf had no emotions beyond that of perverse amusement and arrogance. But now that he was touching his mind, the pure essence of the king, he found that Thranduil felt. And he felt very, very passionately. Elrond felt a shiver go down his spine at the raw emotions that were contained in Thranduil, like shuddering, beating hearts that pulsed and ebbed with varying amounts of strength. His mind was fleeting, sifting through memory after memory, almost too quickly for Elrond to follow.   
Thranduil was caught in the trance of Elrond’s mind for several more heartbeats before he could tear himself away enough to remember himself. The thin line of blood dripping down his hand from where Elrond had pressed the blade into their skin hard enough to break it should have been enough, but somehow, that pain seemed far away. it took a great deal of willpower to break himself away and to return enough of his consciousness to his body to gain the use of his lips once more.   
As Thranduil began chanting in the Old Tongue of the Valar, the advisors shifted and looked at each other. So far, nothing of importance had happened, except that Algaron had seen the blood and started to rush forward, only to be stopped by Lindir, who put a gentle but firm hand on the blond elf’s shoulder and shook his head.   
Algaron looked over at him with wide eyes. The elf felt fragile underneath Lindir’s fingers, and he couldn’t help but let the touch linger a bit. “Disturbing them now would be unwise,” he murmured. Algaron gave him a confused look, and Lindir continued. “They are joining their minds so that Elrond might see what Thranduil does. It is better to have two witnesses to a tracking spell such as this, so that all the details can be noticed to better our search for the elf or man responsible for your king’s assassination attempt.”  
Algaron subsided and nodded. Lindir released his shoulder and resumed his place beside the blond-haired advisor and shot a look to Erestor and Glorfindel. Neither of them were watching him at the moment, instead focusing on the two elven leaders who were now silent. Elrond jerked as if he had been stabbed, but did not let go of Thranduil’s hands, and now it was LIndir’s turn to check himself. He found his weight shifting forward to his right foot while he lifted his left, and had to physically stop himself.   
Elrond had seen the rush of images through Thranduil’s mind as the dagger grew almost scorchingly hot between his and Thranduil’s clasped hands. There was a fire in a hearth and the faint sound of pounding metal. A pair of tongs holding an unformed piece of metal, which glowed with a fiery heat. Sparks flying off of that metal. A gleaming dagger held up to the light, gleaming. The same dagger that was clenched between their hands at this very moment.   
A shadowy figure with a hood pulled over their face, reaching out, slim fingers grasping the dagger. Rain pouring from a door being opened, a glance upward. There was the slightest glimpse of the sign from the corner of the eye of whoever had made this dagger, and Elrond drew in a sharp breath. He knew exactly where the dagger had been forged.  
The memories ended, and he felt Thranduil drawing his mind away from Elrond’s, drawing back into his body. Elrond closed his mind and opened his eyes to find Thranduil’s already open and grimly resting on his. The dagger clattered between them as they drew promptly away from each other. Thranduil flexed his hand, looking down as he felt the sting of the cut. He glared at the blood dripping down his palm for a few moments before Algaron offered him a spare bit of fabric he had in his pocket. The elf king nodded his thanks, but did not apply it to the wound, simply continued looking at . Elrond turned without even glancing at his hand, though blood was slipping down his fingers like hot water.   
“How long would it take to get to Bree?” he asked Glorfindel.   
Glorfindel blinked. “It is a three day ride, my lord.”   
“Ready us horses. We leave as soon as possible.”  
“Elrond.” Thranduil’s voice was slightly surprised. He quickly covered it up with a cough and lowered his voice back to its usual tone. “We must discuss this.”  
“You saw what I did, Thranduil,” Elrond said without turning around. “We must find the smithy in Bree and find out who is trying to kill you. Unless, of course, you would prefer to sit and wait for the next attempt.”  
“Of course not,” Thranduil snapped. He looked back at Algaron, who was poised, as if he was ready to help Thranduil at a moment’s notice. The advisor met his gaze and then glanced quickly away. “I am not ignorant.” Thranduil turned back to Elrond and gave him a saccharine sweet smile, though the elf lord could not see it.   
Elrond turned back to him and arched an eyebrow, the meaning very eloquent. Thranduil internally rolled his eyes. The fact that the elf lord could snark at him after only moments of the spell ending meant that he was very resilient, didn’t it? Not that it mattered to Thranduil, not at all. Thranduil raised his chin and stared back at the elf lord. Elrond looked away after a moment, turning away again. None of the councilors had moved, and he shooed Erestor away. “Go get our steeds.” He turned back to Thranduil. “I am sure that we will have plenty of time to discuss this on the road.”  
“Speaking of which, I do not need your horse. I have my own mount and would prefer it to your horse.”  
“And travelling on it would only bring attention to you.” Elrond began walking out of the room. Thranduil cursed inwardly and followed him. Elrond shot him a look. “You will ride a horse.”  
Thranduil sighed and did not respond. He would not embarrass himself by attempting to negotiate, not when the elf lord happened to be right, the orc-headed idiot. Elrond looked over, clearly surprised by Thranduil’s lack of response. He was used to a smooth quip to counter nearly everything he said.   
Elrond would have never guessed the depth of the emotions that raged below Thranduil’s impenetrable mask or arrogance and scorn. He had felt a deep, aching sense of loss, and passion. The passion to live, the voraciousness to learn all that he could while he did so. He had even detected a bit of joy—actual complete and shameless joy—at the thought of his son, Legolas and of the happy memories of his wife. He kept it all contained under that cool exterior.   
Thranduil glanced over and caught the elf lord staring, grey eyes dark with some emotion that he couldn’t quite place. Something akin to awe, though Thranduil told himself that it was a trick of the light, because Elrond would never look at him like that. “Admiring my beautiful face?” he said coolly, giving Elrond a smirk. It was more a defense, because he knew that Elrond had seen his emotions, beyond the careful façade he constantly had in place.   
There were only two people that knew that he was capable of such emotions: his wife and Legolas. One was dead, and the other Thranduil had only shown his emotions to when he was younger. Now that he was of age and had traveled the world, he knew that he had begun treating his son like one of his subjects; distant and far away. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but he found that it was easier to have people believe that he was cold-hearted and unable of emotions such as love. Elrond looked away, something hot flashing through his eyes. “It is no wonder why your subjects do not like you,” he said coolly. “They believe they have a narcissist on the throne.”  
Thranduil did not grace Elrond with a reply, simply sighed and walked a bit faster, though he did not know where they were going.   
Something told him that these three days were to be the longest of his life yet.  
00800  
Erestor was glad that Elrond had sent him to retrieve the horses; he did not want to face Glorfindel after that moment of… whatever it had been. After he had talked to the nearest elf he could find about readying the horses, he retired to his rooms. He knew he would have to go to Elrond’s office in a bit to take over the work, but for now, he could gather his thoughts and prepare himself to talk with Glorfindel once more.   
Unfortunately, Glorfindel was already there in his rooms, standing at the window with his back to the door. Erestor opened his door and stopped short, looking at the balrog-slayer with complete shock. “Glorfindel?”  
“Unless there is another balrog-slayer you are looking for,” Glorfindel said, turning so that his face was cast in profile.   
“Well,” Erestor began and then sighed. “I was simply wondering what you were doing in here?” He closed the door and approached Glorfindel slowly. Has he come to tell me that I cannot feel the way about him? That was only a momentary weakness that I am not even sure meant anything. He opened his mouth to tell Glorfindel that much, but the elf raised a hand and turned fully.   
“Elrond wants me to go to Mirkwood,” he began, glancing over Erestor. The elf looked tense and harried. He frowned. “Are you well, Erestor?”  
“Aye,” Erestor replied, much too quickly. “Why does Elrond want you in Mirkwood?”  
“Seduce an elven maiden?” Glorfindel asked, raising an eyebrow. He walked up to Erestor, exaggerating his movements. He lowered his voice and bowed gallantly, golden hair spilling over his shoulders like a curtain. He grasped Erestors hand and pretended to slather it with kisses. “Why my lovely ellith, you look ravishing.” He leaned down on one knee and swept a hand around the room. “Come on a walk with me in the forest? Perhaps we will be eaten by giant spiders and I can gallantly save you, my darling.” He leapt up and drew his sword, swinging exaggeratedly at the air.   
Erestor couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his lips. Glorfindel looked utterly ridiculous. The elf turned, a smile on his face, as he sheathed his sword and began moving with his usual grace once again. “Do you think you would find such a maiden in Mirkwood?” Erestor asked.  
The smile disappeared from Glorfindel’s face, although it still echoed in his voice and glimmered in his eyes. He glanced away. “I do not think so,” he said quietly. Erestor frowned and opened his mouth to ask Glorfindel his meaning, but Glorfindel cut him off. “I did not come into your room for folly. Will you be able to handle everything while Elrond and I are gone?”  
“Aye,” Erestor said immediately. It would put a lot of pressure on him, and he would be unable to have a moment to himself, but he would be able to handle it. He had done so before, after Celebrian had sailed and Glorfindel had been off slaying Orcs and other creatures that threatened the borders of Imladris. “I will be fine. Elladan and Elrohir will be back in a few days to help.”  
Glorfindel reached out and placed a hand on Erestor’s shoulder. “Elrond is blessed to have you as his councilor.” Erestor flinched at the unexpected touch, then smiled at Glorfindel in an attempt to cover the unneeded reaction. People did not usually touch him; he did not have the same bond with Glorfindel as the balrog-slayer did with his fellow soldiers, and Elrond did not touch anyone, save perhaps his children.  
“I highly doubt that,” he said, blushing slightly. It was something that Erestor always did; he blushed when he received a compliment of any kind from anyone. Even simple praise for a job well done caused Erestor to become flustered. Glorfindel released his shoulder after a moment and turned.   
“Can I ask something of you, Erestor?” he asked quietly. Every bit of humor had drained from his tone.   
“Anything,” Erestor replied quickly. Glorfindel was his truest friend; he would do everything and anything that the elf wanted or needed.   
Glorfindel unsheathed a small hunting dagger from his waist and clenched it in his hand, looking down at it. It was something that he had held for thousands of years; the only thing that he had retained from his death. His fellow soldier whom he had fought many battles with, had presented it to him as a parting gift after he had declared that he would go to Imladris.   
He did not know if Erestor would truly understand what he was giving him; Glorfindel didn’t truly understand why he was giving it to him, but it was something he had thought about ever since Elrond had told him that he was going to Mirkwood to investigate what had already happened there. He turned quickly before he lost his nerve, and pressed the dagger and sheath into Erestor’s palm closing his own fingers around Erestor’s.   
The councilor’s hands were smoother than his own, more familiar with books and quills than bows and swords. Erestor looked up at him in surprise. “Glorfindel?”  
“Keep this close to you,” Glorfindel said, holding the dark-haired elf’s gaze. “Always. It will protect you.”  
“Glorfindel, I could never accept this. I am perfectly safe. You are going into a more dangerous situation than I; would it not be wiser for you to carry it with you?” Erestor attempted to extract his fingers from the blade, but Glorfindel had entwined his fingers with Erestor’s, making escape impossible.   
Glorfindel pushed the dagger towards Erestor, pressing it against his chest. “Ag ngell nin?” he whispered. Erestor shivered, but did not look away or attempt to pull back. Those words were almost a caress. What was happening to him today? Why was he looking at Glorfindel and feeling things other than friendship?  
“Aye,” he whispered, feeling himself lean into Glorfindel’s gaze, finding it coming closer and closer to him. His head spun, but he seemed unable to think logically. He saw something dark stir in the depths of Glorfindel’s eyes, something that looked nearly like… lust. Erestor felt something pool low in his body, causing him to shiver in anticipation.   
Glorfindel caught the reaction and froze, the lust in his eyes darkening to something that looked nearly like sheer terror. Erestor froze and tried to pull away, but Glorfindel was still holding tightly to him. The terror calmed after a few heartbeats and Glorfindel pulled Erestor against him in a quite awkward hug, before quickly drawing away and leaving the room, shutting the door a bit too firmly behind him, all without saying a single word.   
Erestor was left, clutching a dagger in his palm and feeling more confused than he had in years. He knew that he had seen lust in Glorfindel’s eyes, but after he had reacted, the lust had turned to a darker emotion. Had Erestor misread the emotion in Glorfindel’s eyes?  
Glorfindel cursed himself as he quickly walked down the hall, trying to calm himself. He could not deny that the answering call of lust in his body had been his initial reaction, but the memories were a close second, and they had quickly overwhelmed anything good that he had felt. He wanted to go back to Erestor and apologize, explain, but for what? Perhaps Erestor hadn’t felt what he had. It would be embarrassing to find that out by asking him. And besides, apologizing would include explaining, and he was not ready to do that yet. He and Erestor were good friends, but there were secrets between them, secrets that only a few people knew of. No, he would not go back to Erestor. Perhaps he would have it all sorted out before he returned.   
00800  
Thranduil had been right. The three days riding with Elrond were miserable. Not only did the elf lord set a grueling pace, running on foot beside the horses when they grew tired, but he was increasingly abrupt and curt with him. Now that he did not have to fake civility, he was giving the lack of it to Thranduil in abundance. And now that they were alone, what Elrond had seen hung between them like a giant weight. Elrond was plagued with guilt with how he had acted after he had witnessed Thranduil and Algaron, and that made him in an even fowler mood.   
How dare Thranduil cause him to react like that, the insanely beautiful and infuriating elf? Elrond found himself glaring at the ground oftentimes, imagining what it would be like to shout at Thranduil about what he had done in Elrond’s library. But he stayed his tongue every time, realizing that he would have to continue travelling with the elf king, and if he let Thranduil know that it had affected him so, he would regret it. No doubt Thranduil would get endless amusement from the fact.   
The two elves had gone days without seeing another soul on the road as they travelled to Bree, which wasn’t unusual, as the road from Imladris to Bree was unused and overgrown.   
“It will be dark soon,” Thranduil commented. “We should stop for the night.”  
Elrond looked up in surprise. Indeed, the light was fading, and he glanced back at Thranduil. The elf kind was out of his splendor, dressed in practical clothes and without his crown. He looked less intimidating in these clothes, but no less beautiful. Even with twigs and stray leaves twined in his hair and dust on his face and clothes, he still looked like the Valar’s incarnation of beauty.   
Curse him.   
Elrond tilted his head slightly in affirmation. “Aye.” He urged his chestnut horse to the side of the road and began looking for a clearing that was close enough to the road to be able to reach it quickly, yet still offered enough protection to cover them from potential attackers. They walked in silence for a few furlongs more, until Elrond found a suitable clearing. “We will rest here.”  
Thranduil tried to think of a quip to return, but found that he was too tired to think. He simply nodded and led his horse into the clearing. The horse was different than his elk, making it a completely foreign experience. He had begrudged Elrond at first silently, but then realized that he was being childish and accepted that Elrond’s logic was sound, though he loathed to admit it. Elrond tied his horse to a tree and immediately began gathering wood to build a fire, while Thranduil rubbed his horse down and took some Lembas bread from the saddlebag. Once the fire was started, the two sat opposite each other and ate the bread in silence.   
It wasn’t a comfortable silence. The damnable elven king was tense, and Elrond didn’t have to stretch his imagination to understand just what it was that Thranduil was thinking about. Now that they were all alone in the forest without their responsibilities and duties, who knew what could ensue.   
Thranduil looked up and caught Elrond’s searching look. He paused, Lembas halfway raised to his lips and smirked. “You do not seem able to keep your eyes off of me for more than a few hours, Elrond. Is it my alluring and otherworldly beauty that draws the eye?”  
He had expected Elrond to look down at the bold statement, but he held Thranduil’s gaze steadily. “You have a smudge of dirt on your face. Several, in fact. I was going to allow you to wear them all the way into Bree, but it seems as if they will annoy me almost as much as you do if I allow them to stay on your face,” he said blandly.   
Thranduil’s smirk increased. “Since they annoy you, I may just leave them.”  
“I don’t think your pride could handle it,” Elrond responded, and before Thranduil could think of an adequate response, the half elf had risen to his knees and reached out. The pad of his thumb slid down the length of Thranduil’s slender nose in a lingering touch.  
Up close, Thranduil could smell the half elf, something musky that reminded him of walking through the forest back when it had been well and flourishing. It was utterly bewitching. He drew in a sharp breath as the simple swipe of the finger sent a bolt of electric passion directly to his groin. Before he realized just what he was doing, he had reached up and gripped Elrond’s wrist, drawing it away from his face.   
They stared at each other for several long seconds, neither daring to move or breathe. Then, Elrond attempted to draw back with a quick apology, but Thranduil gripped his wrist tighter and pulled the Lord of Imladris so that he was flush against him.   
Elrond let out a breath at the sudden change of his position, and before he could even begin to fully comprehend that, Thranduil had flipped him over and was hovering above him, nearly-white hair framing his face and brushing Elrond’s cheeks and neck.   
“Thranduil,” he found himself saying. It was meant to come out in surprise, but the tone was that of desire, low and dark.   
Thranduil smiled, and it wasn’t his arrogant smirk for the slightest heartbeat. “I managed to get emotion out of you,” he breathed. His hand, still wrapped around Elrond’s wrist, slid upwards, fingers uncurling his half-clenched fist.   
“What?” Elrond asked. He was having trouble concentrating on Thranduil’s words when his fingers were oh-so-gently teasing his own, wrapping and unwrapping around them in some sort of strange dance. The cool breath caressing his face wasn’t helping, either.   
“I felt the emotions you feel when our minds were connected. I had always wondered just what you hid under that mask of indifference. Or if you hid anything at all,” Thranduil continued, lowering them so that their breath was mixing and noses nearly touching. “I wanted to see if I could get you to show it.”  
Elrond was frozen, still attempting to concentrate on the physical sensations he was experiencing as well as comprehend Thranduil’s words. “O—of course I have emotions,” he eventually said, once he had recaptured his train of thought. This was another one of Thranduil’s attempts to elicit an emotion from him, and raiches, he had succeeded.  
That smirk that Elrond so disliked was back. “Oh?”  
Elrond took the hand that Thranduil was still teasing and slid it up Thranduil’s arm to his shoulder to tangle in the silken soft hair—just as soft as he had imagined it to be. With a growl that was more animal than elf, he yanked the Sindar elf down and their lips collided. He would show him the amount of emotions he was capable of, if that was what it took.   
Thranduil was caught in a moment of surprise. He had never expected the half elf to make the first move. His body surpassed his surprise much more quickly than his mind, and he responded, dipping his hips to grind against Elrond’s, sliding hands into hair and gripping tightly.  
Kissing was not an accurate description of what they were doing. Feeding at each other’s’ mouths as if they had both been starving and had just discovered a feast fit for a king was more like it. There was nothing soft or tender in their actions. Pent up anger and sexual tension was released in one violent storm of lust.   
What in Eru am I doing? Elrond thought hazily as he felt the friction between his body and Thranduil’s create a delicious sensation. For several moments, he didn’t find the will to care. There was only scorching lips on his, slender hands tugging at his hair in a sensational mixture of pain and pleasure and that oh-so-amazing friction between their hips.   
A twig snapped.   
Thranduil was off of Elrond in a moment, and in moments both had weapons out and were crouched on the forest floor, ready to fight at a moment’s notice.   
Elrond’s heart pounded in his throat, not completely in expectation of battle. Lust still raged through his body like an inferno, and it was all he could do to not tackle Thranduil and continue what they were doing. He glanced back at the elven king, seeing that his hair was disheveled, but his eyes alert. They scanned the immediate area with a level of precision that only a soldier could manage.  
A moment later, Thranduil motioned to the right of the clearing, and Elrond spun that way, hunting dagger gripped tightly in his grip. A moment later, he relaxed and sheathed the blade in a moment as the deer wandered on from the edge of their clearing, none the wiser to what she had interrupted.   
Elrond let out a breath and turned away from Thranduil, attempting to catch his breath and the train of his thoughts once again. What had come over him? What had driven him to initiate such intimate contact with the infuriating elven king? He took a deep breath and centered himself. He needed to get control of the situation before it went out of hand.   
Thranduil could see Elrond slipping back into that carefully contained shell he had managed to break him out of for a few moments. He sighed inwardly, shoving the pang of disappointment deep inside of himself. He told himself he didn’t care, and had managed to partially convince himself of that when Elrond turned around. “I’m going to find water,” he said, holding up his mostly full canteen. His words were stilted, stiff, and dead.   
Thranduil inclined his head and turned to his own horse without giving any verbal acknowledgement. He worked on putting the discarded Lambas back in the saddle bag, listening keenly as Elrond padded away on nearly-silent feet. When he was out of visual range, Thranduil left his horse with a few murmured words of acknowledgement and a pat to collapse against a tree. He closed his eyes and went deep inside of himself to begin sorting out his emotions and taming his body’s wildly raging lust.

00800

Lindir sighed as he finished reading through, approving and tweaking his eight and twentieth document. He could feel the strain on his eyes and marveled how Elrond could stand doing this daily. The sun hadn’t even reached its highest point in the sky yet. He leaned back and stretched his ink-stained hands above his head in an attempt to alleviate the tension that had settled in his shoulders and neck. It did nothing to help, and he was considering continuing with other exercises when a gentle knock came at his door.   
Lindir frowned. Glorfindel had left to Mirkwood, Erestor had shut himself in his room for reasons unknown to anyone, and Elrond wouldn’t be back yet. Aside from the trio, he found that he rarely talked to other elves, aside from the twins when they visited. Perhaps Elladan or Elrohir had come to see if Elrond was home.   
When he opened the door and found a blond-haired elf, he blinked in surprise before even recognizing Algaron. “Oh,” he said eloquently. The advisor was dressed in a fine silver tunic over black pants and part of his hair was pulled back in an intricate braid. He looked like one of the Valar put into flesh to walk among elfkind.   
Algaron peered up at him, eyes wide. “Am I disturbing you?” he asked   
“No, not at all,” Lindir said after a moment of gaping at the truly magnificent vision before him. “In fact, I was getting ready to take a stroll around the courtyard.” Lindir took note his rumpled clothes, disheveled hair and ink-stained hands and felt small and dirty next to Algaron. He sighed. Making comparisons wouldn’t do him any good.   
“I will join you,” Algaron said with as much conviction as Lindir had ever heard the elf say anything with. Then, he seemed to remember himself and folded his hands in front of him. “That is, if it doesn’t inconvenience you.”  
“I would enjoy your company,” Lindir said, resisting the urge to put a reassuring hand on Algaron’s shoulder. He might tarnish the beautiful material of his tunic. He settled for a warm smile, and Algaron echoed it tentatively. He motioned the elf out of the door and followed him, turning the lock with the key Elrond had pressed into his hand just before mounting his horse. He tucked it into his robe and followed Algaron down the hall.   
“How long have you worked for Lord Elrond?” Algaron asked as they walked down the hall. He glanced at wall tapestries, the ceiling and lamps as if he was taking mental note of everything. His gaze settled on Lindir as he asked the question and didn’t waver as Lindir answered.   
“Since he was with Gil-Galad,” he answered. It had only been a few millennium, a mere blink in the eye of an elf, but it had felt like a long time to Lindir. Elrond’s home had been the first safe place he could call home. Rivendell was by far the most pleasant place he had stayed in his life. He glanced over at Algaron, who was still watching him. “How long have you been serving Thranduil?”  
Algaron’s jaw tensed slightly. “Since Legolas’s birth. I became his personal advisor when his mate died in Angmar.” His voice sounded slightly tense, and Lindir decided that it would be best to stay off of the subject of Thranduil before he caused the shy elf to retreat back into his shell.   
“Hmm,” he simply said, and Algaron relaxed somewhat. They had reached the courtyard and Lindir began pointing out the native plants of Imladris to the elf, who seemed enraptured by the very plants that Lindir gazed upon every day. He reached out with slender fingers and touched petals and leaves as if they were the finest bolts of fabric in Middle Earth.   
“You have never seen these plants before?” Lindir asked.   
Algaron glanced up at him. “Not for a long time, master elf. The plants have long since died out in Mirkwood and all we are left with is the shells of them.”  
Lindir fell silent for several moments. He had been saddened when he had heard about Greenwood, but he hadn’t spared it more than a passing thought at the time. What must it be like to live in such a sick place each and every day of an immortal life? He couldn’t fathom it.   
On a sudden moment of folly, Lindir reached down and plucked a single white lily from a plant and brought it to his lips. He murmured a few words over it, weaving his magic in the fibrous cells of the plant, and then reached forward and tucked it behind Algaron’s ear. The elf flinched at the sudden contact of Lindir’s fingers sliding against the sensitive tip of his ear, but didn’t attempt to move away. Lindir was gentle, that he knew, and he would not force him—could not force him—to do what Thranduil might.   
“There,” Lindir said, his voice soft. His touch lingered, not pulling away or advancing. “Now you will carry a plant with you for the rest of your life or mine. It will never fade or die. Even if you are walking your sickened and dead forests, you will have the reminder of life—of hope.”  
Algaron felt his eyes widen. It was a small token, but he doubted Lindir could know the depth of the meaning it had for him. He had longed for the slightest bit of greenery for millennia with a passion that nearly rivaled the call of the sea. The lily had a dusky scent and tickled at the side of his face pleasantly. He reached up and touched the flower, his fingers brushing against Lindir’s as he pulled back.   
“Le fael,” he murmured, tracing the shape of the flower with his forefinger. LIndir’s halfway withdrawn hand suddenly was on the side of his face, thumb stroking a path over his cheekbone.   
“Sais, It is no great exertion,” he responded. “And a gift given of free will.”  
Algaron’s body began to tremble at the sheer amount of kindness he found in LIndir’s eyes. He hadn’t seen such kindness from anyone in a long time, not since Legolas’s mother had died. It scared him; he had no idea how to handle such a tender emotion. He looked down and stepped away from LIndir’s touch.   
“My Lord bade me to help you with whatever you and Erestor need,” he said. “That is why I came.” He glanced up to see Lindir looking at him with those deep, endless eyes. They were blank, but he could see something brewing beneath them. He wanted to determine what it was that Lindir was feeling, but he felt as if he would fall into those eyes if he continued to look into them any longer. He glanced out towards the great river. “If you require any help, that is.”  
Algaron saw Lindir nod in his peripheral vision. “I am grateful for your help. Erestor has locked himself in his room and refuses to come out no matter what I say. I do not know what ails him, but I could not run from the responsibilities that Elrond left us as he had. Your help would be very useful.”  
Algaron frowned. He had seen Erestor just after Lord Elrond and Thranduil had left and he had seemed quite well then, if a bit harried. “That is quite disconcerting,” he said. “Glorfindel is not in Imladris?”  
“Elrond sent him to Mirkwood to attempt to figure out why one of our advisors was there.”  
“Perhaps it has something to do with his absence, then,” Algaron said. “Are they close?”  
“Quite.” Lindir realized what Algaron was saying after a few heartbeats. “However, I do not believe in that way.” The headed back to Elrond’s study, chattering idly about everything but what had just transpired between them, though Lindir noticed that the elf’s finger reached up occasionally to caress the flower again.   
He smiled. Perhaps it wasn’t a lost cause, attempting to gain Algaron’s trust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I lied. That was long. Anyhow, please review and let me know what you think. Be prepared for lots of action (more than one kind) next chapter and a more plot than any kind of smut. Though that’s what has been happening so far.   
> Sigh… I need to shut up. Please review and let me know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, done with the first chapter! This kind of writing is hard! Geez, I'm so used to writing more dramatic and serious stuff, so tell me if I have utterly failed at bringing humor into this story and I will… I don't know, go back and fix everything perhaps.  
> Has anyone else ever wondered what on earth the jewels or pure starlight were doing in Erebor? Because I have, so I made up that little thing. And please, tell me what Thranduil rides, because I haven't the slightest clue. An elk? Or moose? Or caribou? Ugh.  
> Whatever. Oh, and Le hannon means thank you in Sindarin. I probably won't use as much of it as I did in my last fanfic This is No Mere Ranger, but I may use some, so bear with me.  
> Thanks for reading, please review and all of that pizzaz! I love to hear your comments and what you thought about my writing and/or story idea. Also, please feel free to let me know if I've messed something up, because I'd love to be able to fix it!  
> Novaer!


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